


With great fortune (and a great hairdo)

by Neyiea



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nori's hair and beard are an absolute wreck from his impromptu barrel ride, but he's really not keen on the idea of asking his brother for assistance and thus settles down to tackle the tangles himself.</p><p>He manages to get help anyways, from unexpected sources.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With great fortune (and a great hairdo)

Dwarvish pride encompasses a great many of things: the width of your shoulders, the size of your nose and ears, scars you have and how you got them, excelling in your trade of choice and, of course, your hair.

Hundreds of pages could be written about the importance of a dwarf's hair (and perhaps they already had been written, it wouldn't surprise Nori one bit): the length, texture, sheen and braids. The unthinking perfection of their preferred styles, kept flawless through sheer force of will and stubbornness. 

Flawless is currently the furthest thing from Nori's mind when he finally takes stock of everyone, dripping on the floors of the barge-man's home. Some got off easy, most notably Ori and Kíli who've barely reached a decent length and don't even have to worry about beards much (or at all), but overall the result of their ride down the river is quite unbecoming.

Nori very slowly combs his fingers through the loose strands that once made up his immaculate beard, wincing when his nimble digits catch on multiple knots and tangles.

If there's one thing that Nori will admit Dori is better at then he is (ignoring the obvious mention of sheer, immeasurable strength), it's that his elder brother's dexterous fingers are capable of untangling even the messiest nest of hair without causing undue pain, and braiding it back into such neat plaits that you'd never have suspected a single hair had fallen out of place.

Nori sometimes thinks Dori would have made a damn fine pick-pocket, if he'd ever tried walking on the wrong side of the law.

Returning to the point though; Nori knows what Dori's capable of, knows that if he could swallow his pride and _ask_ Dori would be more than happy to help him out eventually, but...

Dori's own hair is a mess too, and Nori would be cackling to himself about it if he wasn't sure he looked ten times worse. As it is he's a bit put out, because Dori's hair will take quite some time for him to fix up (and if his will take an age to sort out, just how long will Nori be stuck untangling his own?) and afterwards he's sure to try and fix up Ori's, which leaves Nori to deal with his hair himself unless he wants to wait for possible hours to get to it.

And he's not too keen on letting himself be seen like this for hours.

He sort of misses being Ori's age, young enough that Dori would fuss over him without prompting (not that he would ever admit it, unless it was the only way to escape certain death). 

Not enjoying the thought of how lengthy an undertaking this is likely to be, Nori finds himself space on the floor away from the others, sitting on his heels and reaching into one of his hidden, inner pockets for his comb.

He frowns deeply when he fails to find it.

Damn elvish guards were better at patting him down than he'd thought, though they had missed several tools which could easily be used as lock-picks which he had stashed on his person.

At this point he'd really rather that they'd found the lock-picks instead of the comb. They probably took it just to be snobbish too, the grass-eaters.

"Oh look, I'm 'n elf and m'hair is always _perfect_ ," he mutters under his breath irately, "I don't even have to take care of it, I just _roll out of bed_ and it's already like this."

"Need some help?"

He glances up and sees one of the barge-man's children, the eldest girl, looking down at him with a smile.

"Nah, a comb'd be nice though," he says without even thinking. She nods and turns away, coming back mere minutes later with her younger sister trailing behind her.

"We _can_ help, you know, if you'd like," she tells him and Nori blinks at them slowly.

"Help?"

"With fixing your hair."

Well that's a bit... Improper.

It's a good thing he's not a high-bred dwarf (or Dori) who'd take such a question too personally and be either insulted or horrified. It may have actually been funny if they'd asked someone, like Dwalin, to help brush his hair so that Nori could watch the guardsman go red and squirm. Them singling him out of the bunch though just means his hair's even worse than he thought, and if that isn't something to privately sulk over he doesn't know what is.

"It'd be better if you not," he responds a bit gruffly, which doesn't seem to deter them at all.

"Please," the elder girl smiles at him, already brandishing a sturdy looking comb, "sitting around idly doesn't feel right, and we'd love to help."

The younger blinks her wide eyes at him, _Mahal_ and he'd thought Ori had been the picture of innocent curiosity when he'd been a tot. Seems children were all the same when you got down to it, no matter their race. 

"I'd just really like to touch your hair." She informs him without preamble.

"Tilda!"

"What? You want to as well, Sigrid. Please let us help, please? I've heard that-" she casts her eyes away, lowering her voice as though she's revealing a very important secret, "that dwarf hair is so smooth it'll run through your fingers like water."

Nori snorts a laugh, relaxing despite himself. "Sadly not true, especially'n this state." He picks at the ratty end of one of his few remaining braids fussily. "But I suppose it's better'an the rumour that was circling a couple centuries back, that gold an' jewels fell out of a dwarrow's hair when they combed it."

They're definitely too young to have ever heard that _precious_ bit of hearsay, and both of them stare at him like they can't believe that was ever even considered to be accurate.

"Surely no one actually believed that." Sigrid says in the stilted sort of way of someone who knows it must be true but holds onto hope that they've just misheard.

"'fraid so." Men-folk always did spread the strangest stories.

"Well, we may not be able to get gold out of your hair, but we could get the tangles out," Tilda says, fiddling with her own comb, a delicate looking thing meant for the baby-fine hair of a child.

"My tangles'll snap that brush of yours in half," he tells her, though not as firmly as he ought to. He's leaning towards the idea a bit, now that he's had the chance to think it over.

"It's stronger than it looks." She crosses her arms and looks at her older sister. "Right Sig?"

"Right, Tilda. Besides," she adds in a very reasonable tone, "it'll take you an awful long time to brush your hair out all by yourself."

Oh, fine, when had he ever cared about being proper anyways?

He makes a show of pursing his lips together and squinting his eyes as if in thought, almost incapable of keeping a straight face when Tilda clasps her hands together, totally falling for the act.

Sigrid just smiles at him, amused at his exaggerated decision-making.

"I suppose, if y'have the time to be wastin'." He consents with a nod. Tilda smiles widely, seeming far too delighted over such a small thing, not that he'll fault her for it. Together the sisters sit down on either side of him, combs at the ready.

Oh, he hopes this isn't going to hurt.

"I don't suppose y'have a great deal of experience in brushing out a rat's nest like this?" He mumbles.

Sigrid looks at him with her eyebrows raised and, alright, she's got a half-decent sort of braid by _dwarven_ standards and her hair has evidently been combed enough to get an exquisite sheen on it so she probably does have some idea what she's doing, but-

"Sometimes da'll let me comb his hair when it's really windy outside," Tilda pipes up cheerily, already running her tiny comb through a small section of Nori's mane, very astutely brushing out the ends first. "His hair'll escape from the tie and it gets so tangled underneath, sort of like yours, but yours is much worse." She tells him with the brutal honesty only children have, and Sigrid doesn't even rebuke her for it, just nods in agreement.

Nori sighs. "Yeah, I'm a right mess today, aren't I?"

"Well, a little." Sigrid starts to drag the comb through his hair in gentle, even strokes. "But that's what we're here for."

They're very methodical in their work, each of them concentrating on the ends and ever so slowly working their way up to the root until one small section of his hair is completely free of tangles, and then they move on to the next segment. Nori closes his eyes after a while, just enjoys the feeling of being taken care of so thoroughly, and when he opens them again he sees more than a few looks being cast their way.

"Is it odd, for us to be brushing your hair for you?" Sigrid asks, her eyes flicking over to Dori, who looks like he's about to keel over.

"Aye, 'specially since I've known you for all o'fifteen minutes. Hair maintenance is usually a familial undertaking." There's no point in lying, especially when no one's even attempting to hide their shock.

It's his hair, it's his decision, and frankly he's having too nice of a time to worry about the way a handful of his companions are glaring at him like he's just sworn fealty to Thranduil himself.

"So we're special then, right?" Tilda chirps, and Nori's lips twitch in a barely concealed smile.

"Course. Not everyone has the chance to comb hair as fine as a dwarf's."

"It is very fine," Sigrid sighs, Nori preens.

"It's such a pretty colour," Tilda adds.

"Like holding a piece of tiger's eye up to a flame."

"Flatterers." Nori clucks his tongue at them, and they laugh. 

"I've heard that dwarf-women have beards, just like the dwarf-men do, is that true?" Tilda asks as she brushes out sections of his beard, her eyes flicking up at him curiously.

"Mmhm, a proper beard is an attractive trait on anybody. Why, my own mother's beard is one of the finest Middle Earth has ever seen, I'm sure. She's had to refuse courting gifts left an' right from fellows who'd fallen for her magnificent hair."

"I see. Are you a dwarf-woman, then?"

" _Tilda!_ "

" _Sigrid!_ " She mimics before turning her attention to Nori again, who's just barely managing to hold in his laughter. "Your beard is so long, and now that it's a bit more untangled it does seem awfully fine. Are you?"

Sigrid goes still behind him, like she too is waiting with baited breath for an answer.

"I'm honoured that you think of my beard so highly, but I sadly am not a dwarf-woman."

"Oh." Tilda glances over to the others and her lips press firmly together in thought. "Well, if you are not a dwarf-woman, even though your hair is so very lovely, then surely none of them are, right?"

Nori doesn't bother trying to hold in his laughter any more.

Oh, he feels so much better about himself. Who would have thought that a pair of Daughters of Men would be so good for his self-esteem?

It's been quite some time since he's been pampered like this; Sigrid and Tilda continue to chat as they finally finish brushing out his tangles, and then on some unspoken signal they begin to separate his hair into sections, obviously ready to tackle braiding his locks. Nori doesn't really mind the thought of them giving his hair even more attention, so he unwinds and only very occasionally gives them feedback regarding the tightness of their weaving or the even thickness of the intertwined locks, and eventually his eyelids start to grow heavy.

He doesn't bother looking over at the rest of the company because he can already imagine the sort of looks they might be throwing him now that the situation has escalated from brushing to braiding (poor Dori will have a conniption fit, he is sure of it). Besides, he's far too relaxed to open his eyes.

Almost in unison the girls pull away from him, and he can hear Tilda get up and murmur about finding a mirror before she dashes off.

"Well," Sigrid says in a pleased tone of voice, "I'm actually quite proud of how this turned out, and Tilda did very well with your beard, so you'd better keep these in for at least a day."

Nori's eyes flutter open and his hand reaches up to his beard.

It feels different, certainly, from how he normally wears it, but while the braids aren't intricate there is a certain charm to the way they interlock.

He lifts a hand up to the crown of his head.

Oh, Daughters of Men were not to be underestimated when it came to braiding, it seemed, if the feel of Sigrid's work was anything to go by. His hair is twisted and pinned, criss-crossing around the back of his head before cascading regally down his back. His fingers trace the path from the start to end of one braid, noting the smoothness of the hair with no small amount of satisfaction, and he almost doesn't realize when Tilda stops in front of him until she's pushing a hand mirror into his line of vision.

"Look, look," she demands and he takes the mirror from her with a smile, carefully inspecting his beard first.

He 'ooh's and 'aah's over it, and remarks on how much neater he looks now, to which Tilda nods seriously and responds with, "you definitely don't look like a nearly downed cat anymore."

Nori huffs, more amused than insulted, then he turns his head to the side to get a proper look at Sigrid's handiwork. 

"Do you like it?" She asks, leaning in eagerly to gauge his reaction.

"You outdid yourself," he murmurs, and that seems to be enough for her to straighten up, smile blooming across her face.

"It's nice to work on hair when you can actually see everything that you're doing." Her hand goes up to her own pinned coiffure, gently ensuring everything is still in place before it settles back in her lap. "Tilda's is still too short to do much with, but I used to play with our ma's hair, back when she was still alive. I was too young to be any good at it, of course, but she never complained about having to brush out the knots I'd leave behind."

Tilda settles close beside her sister and doesn't shrug away Sigrid's hand when it starts petting at the top of her head.

"No one is born good at braiding, why, if you look at that silver haired dwarf over there, with the truly impeccable braids, that's my older brother. I used to beg him to let me practice on his hair, and after he refused so many times I took it upon myself to braid it in his sleep." He leans forward, continuing with a conspiring whisper, "the end result was truly awful, took a full day for our mother to fix. I was grounded for a month."

Sigrid and Tilda laugh, and it isn't long before he can no longer hold back his own chuckles. 

He stands up and bids them farewell, finally meandering over to where the other dwarves are and settling beside his brothers with ease, reaching out to toy with the end of one of Ori's newly woven braids.

"Well," Dori begins, mostly to himself, "well, that certainly was something. If you'd wanted help with your hair you know you only needed to ask, yes? No need to get anyone else involved."

"They did a nice job," Ori buts in, bless his heart, and he winks in a way that is more playful than sly before he adds, "do you think, if I asked, they'd do my hair as well?"

Dori, as one might expect, looks at them as if they've just suggested something truly untoward.

"No." He points a finger at Ori, then turns it to Nori. " _No._ "

"Well, I can't exactly turn back time. Besides, there was no harm in it." He reaches out and plucks a brush from Dori's other hand, turning his attention to Ori's beard.

Dori mutters something about propriety under his breath before sighing, likely coming to the (correct) conclusion that Nori didn't care about conventionally accepted standards of behaviour.

"At least let me re-braid it for you. Those braids weren't made to last, they'll start falling out before you know it."

Tempting offer. Very tempting.

"I promised to leave them in for at least a day."

"Well, you can't break a promise. It's not allowed," Ori says earnestly. 

Dori pinches the bridge of his nose (his usual sign of defeat) before he visibly rallies his spirits. "Very well, I'll wait until tomorrow to re-do your hair. But don't come crying to me if everything starts unravelling before then and you look like a fool."

Nori hums under his breath, his eyes flicking over to where Sigrid and Tilda are now gathering up blankets, locking on the burnished gold of Sigrid's hair.

"I don't think it'll unravel at all."


End file.
